


Should

by Contra_Indicated



Category: The Strain (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-17
Updated: 2014-09-17
Packaged: 2018-02-17 18:51:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2319776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Contra_Indicated/pseuds/Contra_Indicated
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fet and Dutch arrive at her apartment and find her roommate gone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Should

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own the characters and I ain't makin any money off of them, either.

He watched her slide down the side of the bookcase, tears streaming down her pained face. After the events of the past two days – the rats, the occultation, the damn vampire attack at the gas station last night, the things were actually _targeting_ them – this hot sobbing mess of a woman in front of him elicited less than no emotional response from him. Let her have her party.

He tried not to think about Eph’s friend – Jim – that he’d killed. The terrors wriggling and glowing beneath his skin in the UV light, how he’d known the answer before he’d asked the question of his friends. Jim had begged his friends to release him, the fucking guy was crying in front of total strangers in a goddamn gas station surrounded by crazed vampires and his ‘friends’ had lacked the cahones to give him what he was asking for.

Watching it had made Fet’s stomach turn. He’d done the only rational thing to do at that point; faced with the prospect of watching a man change into a stinging, rotting vampire and further watching as said turned guy came after Fet and the rest of them, he’d calmly but quickly raised his hand and pulled the trigger. Of course, the friends didn’t appreciate his help, and promptly gave him a self-righteous tongue lashing about why they should have been the ones to do it--. He’d had better days.

Fet looked over at the woman. Dutch’s sobbing had quieted down to whimpers and the frequent cursing of her now-split roommate. Tired of waiting to see what else was going to come through Door Number 2 while she sat here feeling sorry for herself, he rose and crossed the room to her, holding out his hand to help her up. Even in his emotionally and mentally fried state, he wasn’t going to just leave her here.

“We’ve all had a shit couple of days. C’mon, get some stuff packed and let’s get the hell out of here,” he said quietly.

She lifted her head and looked at him, eyes red and mascara tear tracks down her face. She looked at his hand, and slowly let her eyes track from the tips of his fingers, up his arm, slowly gliding her stare up his neck and over the chiseled features of his face, finally locking eyes with an intensity you could feel. He knew what a look like that meant and part of him just wanted to yank her to her feet and tell her to get her shit together so they can get the fuck out of here, while another part (namely the part between his legs) told him it was just the thing he needed to have happen at this very moment after the mounting chaos of the last 48 hours.

He remained still and silent, his hand extended, waiting to help her up. Without breaking eye contact, Dutch slowly raised her hand and grasped his own. Then with a (not) unexpected jerk, she pulled him to his knees on the floor with her, repositioning to her back as she did so, causing him to come down with his hands on either side of her head and his face directly above hers. Her hands shot to his hair and with a grip that was almost painful, she pulled his face down and crushed her lips against his own. His teeth sliced his lower lip and he felt the faint coppery taste of his blood as her tongue invaded his mouth, frantic and powerful, as if she thought the remedy for her anger lay in the back of his throat somewhere.

Her hands moved to his shoulders, and he felt the muscles in her arms and thighs tense in the instant before she rolled him to his back and coming to rest straddling his hips. She leaned down and began kissing and sucking on his jawline and neck, grinding her hips onto his groin. Already feeling himself harden, he slid his right hand up her back into her hair, grabbing a handful and quickly, but gently, pulled her face away from his neck. The wild heat radiating from her body made the act seem like a form of self-torture.

Looking her straight in the eye, he said, “You’re doing this because you’re scared and you’re pissed off that your girlfriend left and took your shit.”

She licked her lips and nodded. “Uh-huh.” A simple, concise admission, whispered and breathy. “And you’re doing this—“

“Because I might not be as nice as you think I am,” he growled, hand gripping her hair tighter. “Good,” she whispered as she resumed kissing, biting, and sucking his neck, her hands sliding up underneath his jacket and shirt, nails scratching tracks of white-hot heat along his lower back.

He should stop her. He should throw her off and tell her to get her shit so we can fuckin go already, he should push her away gently, tell her this will solve nothing and only create more problems, he should jump up and awkwardly apologize as she went to her room to gather a few things.

Fet’s daddy always said: Should is a made up word.


End file.
